To lives gladly given and those sadly lost
by BritishAlien
Summary: For a Time Lord, mortality is a difficult thing to define. The Doctor has to take time to remember who he was and envisage what is to come. xxx Enjoy


In the beginning there was nobody to honour. But as time passed and went along its chosen path, with him as its custodian, many men fell. Their lives brought to an end to save those around them. These men did not die in vain. They died doing the right thing and selflessly sacrificing themselves for others. Time's Eternal Guardian.

x-x-x

Many years before, he'd sat in the TARDIS, considering his past lives. To him they were mere echoes. Occasionally, they strayed into the present, but they were always locked up in a part of his mind, which he could only stare at in wonder. As he changed and became someone new, he became more and more fascinated by who he had been, what had led him to where he was now. It was impossible, even for a Time Lord, to discover the complete truth. Once that man was gone, that was it. The memories, thoughts, feelings were locked away. Only able to scrape the surface information whilst, what defined_ that _man was lost to him. Within his grasp, but tantalisingly hidden from his sight. So, out of respect he decided to honour his past in the only way he could.

His second self had ordered a plaque to be made. The slate wasn't particularly large. No bigger than an average chess board, but to him it meant so much. He had been at a loss as of where to put it. He wanted it to be somewhere desolate. Somewhere only he would know about. At last, he settled for a small spot on Earth. By no means desolate, but peaceful. A place where it would be overlooked by the average folk, but would be easy for him to find. He arranged for it to be placed at the back of a large garden. A small section was cordoned off specially. All that sat within the boundary was the commemoration itself and a wooden bench. Simple enough for him. No big monolith or tomb stone which would detract attention from the piece's meaning. All it said, carved into the ornate gold square, were the words 'To lives gladly given and those sadly lost.' A simple inscription that he'd picked up from some place or other. He had liked to think it came from Gallifrey, one of Rassilon's old quips, but he could no longer remember. All he knew was that this would be a sign of acknowledgement. His life had lasted so long that many places of significance had been destroyed, but this was to be forever eternal. As a Time Lord he hardly ever felt the strain of mortality. How had Freud determined it? Something about humans being too scared to admit their own transience and so needing the presence of another to conceal it from memory. Well, the latter was certainly true. No matter how much he'd denied it, he did need someone. However, unlike humans, he did feel he needed reminding of his own impermanence. Otherwise, what was there to fear in death? This was his reminder. In his mind, this was his final resting place.

As the years passed by, a whole host of objects appeared around the golden block. At first, an ornate ring lay freely on the plaque itself. Lonely, but proud. The ring lay there for many years all by itself. However, as time kept on turning, more objects joined it. A recorder decorated with a blue swirl that snaked its way down the instrument. A beginner's toy, played by children as their first expedition into creativity. A frilled handkerchief with the initials 'J.S' beautifully stitched on the side, crumpled and torn. A long scarf of many colours crawled around the perimeter of the square. Tatty and unravelling slightly, it had been put to good use and now lay lifeless. A cricket ball. One that children would play with in their improvised pitches. All the elasticity had disappeared. The life had gone from its vital shape. The youth had disappeared. A cat badge had been half-heartedly thrown next to the square, as if glad that it was now gone. An umbrella with a question mark handle had been placed neatly in accordance with the scarf. Straight in line with the plaque out of meticulous honour and respect. A gap stayed empty between that of the umbrella and the next object in line, as if that life was best forgotten. The next object was most peculiar of all. Next lay a single red rose. Frozen in time and destined to stay fresh forever, as fresh as his love for his lost soul mate; the one who had saved him. The latest item that sat on the block was a pair of thick rimmed spectacles. One of the lenses had been cracked. A thin slither ran down its surface.

This was his doing. This him. The Eleventh Doctor sat on the bench staring at the golden plaque. Part of him wondered why he was there. He didn't need to be. In fact, he'd never needed to go. Now, it felt like a duty. Every time it happened, he would leave an object that symbolised the man he had been. He hadn't wanted to come here immediately after the change. A long time had passed. The trauma of his last life clinging on with every fibre of his annoyingly thin being had made the change seem more poignant. He was getting old. Nearing the supposed end of his regenerations. Only two left by his reckoning. Well, that's what he'd been told on Gallifrey.

'Twelve regenerations, and that's your lot'

Good old Hedin. A wonderful mentor for the young renegade. Pity about the trouble with Omega. Anyway, he digressed. He was rather good at that. It had gotten him into many scrapes over years. On the odd occasion, it had caused his journey to this place. This Doctor's eyes shifted from object to object. As he closed them, just for a second, he could imagine being that man again. The old man, but oh so young. The cosmic hobo. The dandy. The bohemian. The cricketer. The madman. The clown. Then there was a gap. Something was missing. Something he'd blanked out no doubt.

Amy had decided to stay in the TARDIS. She didn't want to get caught up in all this sentimental nonsense. Especially when the Doctor was being nostalgic. His young features couldn't hide his age. She was still up for Space Florida. She was packing. Packing! Why on Earth she needed to pack he'd never know! Oh well, she was having fun. Her life was so different from the one she'd had in Leadworth. All because of him crash landing the TARDIS. Just after his change. Everything came back to that. That instance when he woke up as a new soul. He begrudged it, but embraced it. A peculiar feeling that he doubted others would be able to understand.

Amy's head popped out of the TARDIS which sat next to the bench. Her head was almost hidden by a large straw sunhat and bug eyed sunglasses.

'I thought those went out of fashion in the 80s?' The Doctor remarked.

' Everything in the 80s is coming back. Shoulder pads, Elton John….'

'the Iron Lady…'

'Who?'

'No matter. Anyway, let's get out of here. Don't want to be here longer than I have to be.'

'Why did you drag us here then when we could be in Space Florida?' Amy protested.

'Something I had to do.' The Doctor remarked.

'Well it's done now. Time to move on. Let's make this better than Rio!' She flashed her childish grin at him. Amy rushed in ahead of him. Not understanding the gravity of the situation. He stared at the small space. It would be the last time he saw it with these eyes. He intended to take in every detail. He wanted to remember. No matter how much pain it caused him inside. 'I wonder what you'll be like. You'd better be ginger!' he smirked. 'Because you'll be here soon. A year, a decade, a century. We all make this pilgrimage. I just hope you'll be worth it.'


End file.
